TW: Creative and violent bodily threats, Batman sass, swears, once again just all-round Gotham tings

The Person of Interest

'The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination.'
Albert Einstein

Sunday, January 24th
A certain someone's super-secret criminal HQ, Gotham City

'If we don't see that new shipment in our docks by tomorrow morning, we will personally cut you up into tiny fucking pieces and feed you to that fucking animal in the sewers ourselves!'

Jackson Keller sighed and took a long drag of his cigarette. Yep, gonna be one of those nights…fuck, the gangster lamented, scratching at the shrapnel scar dinting his jaw.

The office door nearly flew off its hinges as it shot open. It stopped short of leaving a doorknob-shaped crater in the wall, but only because of the death grip that one scarred and strained hand had on the handle.

'Keller, Mulder, Donovan—get your sorry fucking asses in here now.'

'Looks like Face won the toss tonight,' Mike grumbled and grimaced as he pushed off the wall the three of them had leaned against. Michael Donovan and Robert Mulder shared similar looks of dismay as they forwarded into the office, shouldering past one of their dock masters who ran out of it like the Bat was on his tail.

The only mercy that Jack counted on as he followed in behind them was that he didn't have to put out his cigarette. Not with Two-Face. Never with Two-Face. In a way, he was almost glad Face won over Harvey that night—because he sure as fuck would've suffered even more if he had to share the recent turn of events without nicotine in his system.

Jack closed the door behind him and immediately sat before his boss' desk. He felt Rob and Mike hovering behind him, lurking towards the back wall. It was a poor attempt to put distance between them and their boss, especially when Face also refused to sit.

Jack silently observed as the former District Attorney yanked the top drawer of his desk open, fishing around and cursing under his breath even after he found what he was looking for. Raising it and almost biting it in two in his rage, the Arturo Fuente cigar perched and hung out of the scarred corner of the crime lord's mouth. With his lips and eyelid on that side mostly gone, Two-Face gave the impression that he was perpetually snarling and glaring, the burn scars baring teeth and an unblinking eye. Jack preferred to look Harvey over Face in the eye most days, but that day, he didn't want to test his luck.

'Fucking Maroni…fucking had to shoot those two fucking brats—when we find out who's been feeding him such inane, half-baked misinformation, we will personally remove their fucking vocal cords and then feed them back to them with our bare fucking hands,' Two-Face hissed as he lit his cigar. Taking a long drag at the same time Jack did, the crime lord leaned forward with his arms outstretched and propped against his desk, glaring directly at Jack. 'So, give us some good. Fucking. News. Keller.'

'We have a lead,' Jack cut to the chase and tapped his cigarette over the ashtray on Face's desk. 'But not in a way we expected.'

Rob approached from behind and slipped a folder onto his boss' desk, the file hardly touching it before it was swept up by the temperamental criminal. Two-Face flicked to the first page, and immediately, his glare was back on Jack. 'Never took you for a comedian, Keller.'

Jack straightened and cracked a knuckle. 'I know what this may look like—'

'Never thought you had a death wish, either.'

'We're not outsourcing help. She's a person of interest—'

'A person of interest,' Face repeated in disbelief. He dragged out the phrase scathingly.

With a flick of his fingers, the former DA removed the cigar from his mouth with one hand and slammed the file down on the desk with the other. The thick band of his signet ring resounded with a loud clack against the wood. The scarred finger pointed at the first photo he came across. 'This broad looks like she'd clutch her pearls and beg God to take the wheel if one of your fuckers so much as looked at her from across the street, and you're telling me she's involved in this?'

'She was investigating our café, Rise & Grind, yesterday,' Mike intervened, seizing Two-Face's attention. 'The barista and cashier mentioned she was questioning them about you and Maroni. She even tried her hand at prodding us for statements and opinions—something we didn't…entirely recognise at the time, but in all likelihood, she plausibly didn't realise who we are—'

'She did,' Rob refuted, arms crossed. A one thousand-yard stare glossed over his expression. 'Evangeline Winter is a sharp woman. She was deliberate with her words, careful with how she phrased 'em. Even lay on her natural southern drawl to paint the picture of some perfect, innocent southern belle. Some searchin' and proddin' of our own across socials and news articles have shown her to be a more than competent PI with a near-perfect record of closed cases across America—particularly in Metropolis. We're talkin' like successfully puttin' Lex Luthor away for six months 'fore his money and lawyers wormed him out again. If she's goin' after Maroni for startin' this war, then she has the potential to be a wild card and a useful player and is definitely a person of interest, boss.'

Two-Face grunted, his glare jumping between his three lieutenants. After a moment, it shifted back to the photo he slammed on the desk. It was off one of Evangeline Winter's socials, the criminal presumed. She was at what was likely a bar in a white and yellow sundress, grinning broadly against the wall littered with artistic graffiti and under and between the neon signs of a halo and angel wings. A silver Christian cross necklace hung below her clavicle.

Fuck me, the one thing scarier than a hardened criminal in this city: A Christian. Two-Face grimaced.

Don't forget the IRS, Harvey jested with his other half. But honestly, Harv… if she's as prolific as the guys are claiming, then I wouldn't be so dismissive. Besting Luthor is no small feat. Everyone but the general public knows how ingeniously he has been outmanoeuvring Superman and the Justice League all these years. He's as slippery and clever as they come.

I stand by what I said before, Two-Face bit back dismissively, flicking through her file. Luthor and sunny-side Metropolis hasn't got shit on Gotham—and even then, that's one guy. This broad is actively declaring herself an enemy to all the biggest crime families in Gotham if she wasn't hired by any of them. That pretty face and nice ass certainly aren't gonna fucking save her. She clearly has a knack for poking her nose in shit that doesn't concern her, and she will find herself at the wrong end of a gun very fucking quickly if she hasn't already. Maybe we should check the obituaries in the paper today. Could be lucky.

Your crassness aside, what if this does? Harvey asked. Concern her, I mean. What if, as you suggested, O'Reilly or Markovic or even Jim hired her? We know Jim isn't above asking outside sources for help. It wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility.

Gordon ain't the best at his job, we know this, but asking some fucking amateur outsider like this? Give me a fucking break. Even Gordon wouldn't stoop to this shit, Harv countered, unaware of the other three men in the room smoking and very quietly groaning through their exasperation as their boss had another argument with themselves.

Look, regardless of why she's involved, at the end of the day, she's involved. It will not severely harm our ranks if we spare one guy to poke around and check in on what she's investigating. She may uncover something of use to us. Either way, we can't just ignore her—she's poking around our territory. When Two-Face snarled at his response, Harvey knew he had him. Knew that as soon as he broached Evangeline prodding at their turf that Harv would go all territorial on him like a damn dog.

We haven't done shit in this yet, and she's investigating us? Two-Face groused, more to himself than to Harvey this time. What the fuck ever, I'll assign Louie or Mack to deal with this. If she's working for O'Reilly or Markovic and happens to find shit, then great, we'll know it too, because I think those fuckers are keeping us out of the loop more than they're letting on.

I agree.

But, Two-Face countered, taking another drag of his cigar. If she put Luthor away, then it's not exactly fucking detective-grade reasoning to assume she's working for Gordon or some goody-two-shoes equivalent. And if she is working for Gordon, then she'll be dead in the next few days anyway. Maroni, Markovic, Falcone, O'Reilly—together, they've got too many paid-off people in the GCPD, and that's even not counting our guys. They'll find out—because they always fucking do—and she'll be left for dead in an alley. One less headache to deal with. Another day in Gotham.

Another day in Gotham. Harvey sighed at the bitter taste that both the remark and cigar left in their mouth.

Fixing their stare back on Jack prompted the other three men to straighten to attention. Two-Face used his cigar to emphatically gesture as he ordered, 'Fine. Assign Louie or Mack to tail her and dig around what she's poking at. We want to know who hired her because that changes how useful she is to us.'

Glancing down, Two-Face gave the photo on the desk calculated consideration before scowling and extinguishing his cigar over Evangeline's face. A dark, ashy mar burned through her smile. 'A dead woman walking doesn't mean shit to us, but one hired by someone relevant could. And if she's planning some elaborate, cracked scheme to take down someone like she did Luthor, then we better be the first to fucking hear about it.'

'Yes, boss.'

'Of course, boss.'

'You got it, boss.'

'Good,' Two-Face hummed, his temper now simmering instead of boiling over. 'Now that we've got that shit out of the way…what the fuck happened at our casino last night?'

Evangeline Winter enveloped the police commissioner in a hug, an act that startled the older man before he huffed and politely yet no-less endearingly returned the gesture. 'Should've known you were a hugger.'

'Yes, yes you should have, Police Commissioner,' Eve teased, beaming into his scarf and on the verge of rocking back and forth in the embrace.

Jim Gordon huffed again, his breath coming out as a white puff in the icy night air. 'Any particular reason for this?'

'Initially, I was waiting until we were out of the public eye to issue it as a thank you,' Eve answered as she pulled back and held him at an arm's length. 'But you also perpetually look like you need a hug. Most people in this city do, but I don't think most of them would appreciate one like you would.'

'Mm, yeah, well, surprisingly, they're not exactly an affectionate bunch,' Jim quipped, his moustache quirking with his lips. The wisecrack broadened Eve's smile even further.

Stood atop the GCPD Headquarters at Bleake Island, the private investigator and police commissioner continued to trade quips and small talk as the Bat-signal glared down at the city from high above. The sun had long laid down to rest past the horizon, and between the pollution and snow clouds blanketing the city, the cautioning glower of the lit bat symbol had no moon or stars to compete with for attention in the night sky.

Thirty-five or so minutes into waiting, Jim leant against the railing and cast his gaze to the city beyond. 'I… we haven't really discussed this these past few days, but I hope I haven't offended or put you off by telling him about you.'

Eve joined him at the railing, bumping shoulders with him and dismissing his concerns. 'Of course not, it was the responsible thing to do. His involvement or knowledge of my involvement in cases before this wasn't necessary, he has enough on his plate. But this isn't a domestic abuse or affair case, this is a city-wide crime war. The more people that are working together to overcome this, the better. Not to mention, now that we're acquainted, I can circumvent any tiresome legal procedures for gaining confirmation for a theory or evidence by giving him a call like this. I honestly believe this is a win all around.'

'I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,' Jim remarked as if he didn't rely on the Bat to do the same. 'But I'm glad it hasn't discouraged you. I just worry, Eve. I don't want you to bite off more than you can chew. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.'

'Cats have nine lives, Jim. Catwoman has undeniably demonstrated that by now. I still have seven left, so please don't worry too much about me,' Eve attempted to assure but also acquiesced to his concerns. 'However, I am…trying to keep that in mind, nonetheless. I acknowledge that I'm a little eager and reckless sometimes. But I know where the line is. I know what's too dangerous and risky.'

'Do you?' Jim gently pushed back.

Eve's grip on the railing tightened. Not enough for Jim to notice, but enough that her cold knuckles started whitening intermittently with her cycle of clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching. The question beckoned several faces to appear, two in particular. The small scar over her left ribs twinged. The sensation haunted her. The southerner refused to raise her hand and touch it.

'As well as you do,' Eve answered with a quirk of her lips.

While the answer did anything but assure the commissioner, he knew it for what it was. And it was true—no one, not him, not Eve, and definitely not Batman, knew where the line lay in this city.

The cop straightened and stretched his old, frosted joints as the conversation lapsed. He had long since lost feeling in his nose and wasn't fancying the cold after over forty minutes. 'In case you haven't noticed, this can sometimes take a while. I trust you enough to handle this, so I think I will stop procrastinating my paperwork and head back down. You want a coffee?'

Eve shook her head. 'No, thank you. Trying to cut down at the moment, actually. Apparently, trying to reason that caffeine is a better crutch than cocaine or whiskey is enough cause to receive a thorough reprimand from your best friend, so….'

'And you're listening to her?' Jim asked in disbelief, wondering when the PI started wholeheartedly acceding to anybody.

'She's a psychiatrist and my best friend,' Eve elaborated, wide-eyed and gesturing in an attempt to make Jim comprehend the gravity of the situation. 'There is not a more formidable combination known to humankind. No one else besides thirteen-year-olds know where to target you where it acutely and specifically hurts.'

The explanation drew a laugh from the older man. The crow's feet around his eyes laughed with him. 'I'll take your word for it,' he caved. With a surrendering gesture of his hands, Jim Gordon left her alone on the rooftop.

Gotham was anything but silent as she stood there. A chorus of mismatched sounds demanded attention; sirens, car horns, mingling yells and voices, the occasional gunshot, and all of the little things in between. The Uber Eats notifications pinged too loudly in restaurants, men swore at one another across traffic, kids crafted batarangs and practised throwing them with a loud clang against steel trashcans in alleys between houses, remixed versions of "Sorry" by Justin Bieber or "Hotline Bling" by Drake played far too often in far too many clubs across the various Gotham islands, muffled to the streets by thick walls. The little things she couldn't hear, not from up there, but knew them so familiarly from when she walked the streets at night that she almost believed she could hear them.

If Eve was being honest, she didn't want to leave that moment. There was something indescribable and all-encompassing about being so high up. Not high enough that Gotham felt like another world below, but high enough that she felt at peace for a while. Complete silence unnerved her, but the right amount of noise at a distance was soothing. Reminded her that the world was still there at an arm's reach and simply gave her space to breathe for a while. Even the smell wasn't quite so bad up there, which was certainly a win for Gotham.

Eve knew she tended to start a case and run with it. She would run and run and run and never stop to breathe because then everything would catch up with her—discouraging thoughts, potential and very realistically bad outcomes, and the various repercussions of her actions along the way. Since she was little, she overthought things and often found that her best thinking occurred when she didn't, so she just…kept moving. Kept going. Didn't stop.

Stopping meant thinking about what Salvatore Maroni would do if he found out about her. Stopping meant thinking about how, if she pursued this case to the end, inevitably, Gotham would publically find out about her. Stopping meant that the images of a bubbling hole in the throat, one caved-in eye, and splatters of dark flashed before her eyes.

Here we go, she sighed and shut her eyes, leaning back and resting her head against the railing. Getting in my head again.

That's dangerous, her brother would say. Not Nate, the other one. Gonna lose you in there one day at this rate. An' we both know I ain't gonna be the one to ask for directions out.

The PI snorted a laugh, muffled by her trench coat as she turned her face into the crook of her elbow, her forearms crossed over the railing. You wouldn't even ask for mama to pass the salt across the table. We got some building to do before you get to ask a stranger for directions.

'Enjoying yourself, Miss Winter?'

Eve startled. Straightening and whipping her head to the right, she was amazed at how inattentive she was to have missed a six-foot-two and two-hundred and ten-pound vigilante arrive and creep up directly next to her. Closely next to her.

The realisation oddly made her laugh.

'I am, thank you for asking,' she answered, hiding her giggles behind a hand. 'I actually have a question, Dark Knight: are you the kind of man that asks for directions when lost?'

His eyes narrowed, clearly confused. '…directions.'

'Yes,' she reiterated. 'Directions. I imagine you are as familiar and acquainted with Gotham as you are with the back of your hand, but when you're occupied with Justice League business elsewhere and are substantially lost, do you consider yourself above asking for directions or do you reach out to a knowledgeable friend or stranger and ask for help?'

The southerner used the pause in which the vigilante considered his answer to survey him. It was much brighter atop the GCPD HQ than in her apartment, especially stood beside the spotlight. She made out every harsh line, fibre and plate of his suit, saw the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow ghosting his jaw, noticed how—despite his estimated age lying between thirty-seven to forty-two—that no age lines could be sighted in the lower half of his face. He doesn't smile often, not even out of costume.

'I don't get lost,' is what the Dark Knight settled on, drawing another brief laugh from the North Carolinian.

'Ah,' she uttered, clicking her tongue. 'That answers that then.'

'I take it you didn't convince Gordon to allow you to use the signal for such a question,' the Batman cut to the chase, the vigilante once again muddying the line between a statement and a question.

'No, though at this rate I don't think there are many things Jim would say no to me about if I asked,' Eve replied and turned to face him properly. 'Nonetheless, you are here because I have a potential lead that I cannot follow safely or legally, so this is my attempt at being responsible and sensible.'

'So you do know what they mean.'

'Did—' Eve reeled, astounded by the sarcasm. 'Did you just sass me?'

'You make yourself an easy target.'

'Okay, ouch.' She huffed a laugh through her agape mouth. 'Flash forward five years, and you'll wonder what instigated my villain origin story. I hope you remember this moment on that day and realise you have irreparably wounded me so.'

For the first time, Evangeline Winter saw the Dark Knight's lips twitch. It was a 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' quirk that somehow managed to slip through the Caped Crusader's otherwise immovable stoicism, but the investigator caught it. She caught it and held onto the warm and elated sensation it prompted to bloom in her chest.

'You'll live,' he assured, not a drop of concern in his tone. 'What's the lead?'

And back to business, she lamented, the warmth in her chest dimming. 'It… could be nothing, and in all likeliness could be my overactive imagination—'

'True intelligence prizes imagination over knowledge,' the crime fighter encouraged with a step closer. 'You need it to get ahead in this city. What's your theory?'

'I think we're being narrow-minded about this,' she answered more confidently. 'We have only been looking at the circle of crime families because of this ubiquitous belief that they refuse to venture outside of their ranks. But, I started looking elsewhere yesterday….'

Eve groaned, head on the keyboard and ready to pull her own hair out. 'How do individuals perform more crime than entire crime families and syndicates?'

Public files to various members of Gotham's Rogue Gallery and other third-party criminals that had been known to associate or work with others either lay strewn around her or opened on one of the many tabs in Chrome. The feed from her surveillance cameras was open on a separate computer, but so far, the only thing of note were some movements on Carmine Falcone's properties. Nothing overt, and yet there were several men in and out of the warehouse and shipping yard she had set-up at. Enough to cause suspicion, but not condemnation.

Her current problem, however, was the more colourful characters of Gotham's criminal underbelly. Since Jack's discerning remark, the detective had begun to look into characters that hadn't been associated or mentioned in the papers since the crime war had started. Some were just individuals—information brokers and criminals of the sort—but quite quickly, Eve had fallen down a rabbit hole of Batman's more notable villains, only to realise how much crime they actually committed regularly. It made finding more relevant articles and records difficult, which is why she had to settle on refining her search even further.

'The question is,' she pondered aloud—

'—who out of these people would gain something from instigating a mob war?' There wasn't much room to pace on the small platform that lay separate from the rest of the rooftop, especially with the spotlight and vigilante taking up most of it, but Eve still managed somehow. 'Most of your repertoire of rogues favour the spotlight on them. In fact, if I had to hypothesise, characters like the Joker and Riddler are probably bristling at the fact that your attention is not on them right now.'

'Both share fanatic narcissism and egocentrism traits, so your assessment isn't unreasonable,' the Dark Knight confirmed. His gaze followed her movements keenly.

'Exactly! But then, I thought about coercion. Are there any individuals who could be coerced or blackmailed to pull at either Maroni's or Seán's or Alexandra's strings? And out of this potential list of individuals, who would possess the services or skills that would be considered useful or desirable to the person or people who are doing the coercion? That still leaves a question of who would be at the centre of all of this and coercing a Gotham rogue, but that could potentially be answered by tracking down and interrogating said rogue.'

'Nygma's set of skills are unparalleled in the Gotham underworld,' the Caped Crusader commented, narrowing down his own list as Eve talked. 'He has men in every crime syndicate, gang and group. He would have the information to blackmail Maroni or the kids, but he's boastful, prideful. He doesn't have anything to hide. It's unlikely he could be coerced to blackmail someone else, and freely instigating this crime war wouldn't have benefited him at all.'

'Mr Nygma was a strong contender at first, I admit,' Eve acknowledged. She halted her pacing and stood before him again. 'But then I came across another person of interest. There was an article of him working with someone named—'

'—Jervis Tetch?' The investigator read aloud, zooming in on the image of the recurring Arkham inmate. Commonly known as 'The Mad Hatter'…but what is he specifically known for?

Searching up the name, she swiftly realised it wasn't just morbid tea parties and the kidnappings of young, blonde women. It was—

'Mind control devices.'

'Precisely,' Eve clapped her hands and pointed emphatically at the man. 'Which you have undoubtedly contended with many times. But after that, I studied him and asked Jim for his assessment on Mr Tetch, and honestly, he does have the means, niche yet desirable skills, and—'

'A fragmented psychological disposition that could conceivably be coerced,' the Dark Knight finished, seriously considering her argument. 'This is all credible, especially with the reports that Maroni hasn't been acting like himself, but no evidence indicates third-party involvement. What provoked this avenue of investigation?'

The southerner began to toy with the silver ring on her middle left finger, turning it as she considered an appropriate answer that wouldn't result in a potential lecture. 'I… may have had lunch and shared a conversation with three of Two-Face's men. Entirely not by my design, I simply ventured out for lunch, but the café was full, and they needed somewhere to eat and it was a happy little coincidence, and I, of course, did not indicate that I am involved in this whatsoever, I simply expressed my concerns as a new citizen of Gotham and Jack sought to assure me and in assuring me he phrased it in a way that made me consider this path of investigation—'

'Jack?' The Batman repeated, suddenly very serious. 'A man named Jack who admitted he works for Two-Face was with two other men, and you interrogated them?'

'Carefully,' Eve reassured. 'And he didn't admit he worked for Two-Face, none of them did, but I deduced it so with absolute certainty. Is… this a complication?'

The vigilante's jaw moved in a grinding motion, his gaze cast to the city. 'Jackson Keller, Robert Mulder, Michael Donovan. Were these the names of the men you talked to?'

'They did not share surnames, but yes—Jack, Michael and Rob.' The PI continued to play with her ring. 'Judging by their attire, I assumed they were higher in Mr Dent's ranks than the average henchman, but now I am beginning to believe that was a severe underestimation on my behalf.'

'They are his three top men. They report directly to Harvey,' the Batman stressed, stepping closer. Eve stepped back. Her lower back hit the railing. 'If you misspoke even once, Robert Mulder would have noticed. You are certain they did not suspect you?'

Now I'm not, but we have enough on our plate as it is. Eve swallowed and nodded. 'I'm certain. I was careful, Dark Knight.' She fought the urge to raise a hand and placate him, to squeeze his arm and allay his unease. Her fingers twitched at her side to do so, but instead, she settled for a gentle smile.

The vigilante kept her crowded against the railing, and he didn't move for a moment. Didn't move or speak. Blue eyes darted down when her fingers twitched and then darted back up and scrutinised her afterwards. Even in the icy cold, even this high up, and even with the number of layers of vigilante-wear and her own attire between them, she felt warmed having him so close.

Like every other instance before this, it didn't feel intimidating or sexual, like she wanted to run away or jump his bones, despite the man's indisputable attractiveness. Her libido wasn't quite that overactive or desperate. No, it definitely wasn't alarming or sexual. It was—

Comforting. Despite her natural proclivity to retreat when someone so imposing crowded so close, something about the Dark Knight's presence was simultaneously exciting and comforting. She felt safe around him, even though this was only their second interaction, and also she knew there was something exhilarating around the corner if he was involved.

So lost in her own thoughts and realisation, she didn't hear him speak. She returned to the present to find him staring expectantly at her.

Blinking, she shook her head. 'Pardon?'

Something about him softened—he didn't move, not an inch, and he certainly didn't look soft by any means, but something about him suddenly didn't seem so harsh to Eve. 'I said I'll look into Tetch. He's not in Arkham right now, so it may take some time, but I'll find him. If I hear anything, I'll let you know.'

'Wonderful! Thank you,' Eve praised in earnest, hands clasped. 'And, well, this may be an odd and naïve request, but please try to avoid bodily harm where you can. If he really is as fragmented and unstable as he's described, broken bones will exacerbate the problem. I can't imagine that assaulting those with mental health conditions improves the situation, after all.'

'No promises, but we'll see,' the Batman cryptically responded, and she could tell it was more for her benefit than anything else. 'Stay safe, Miss Winter.'

'You first, Mr Knight.'

He tread back, and in an act that sent Eve's heart into her throat, circled her and launched himself from the platform. She watched his cape flutter and straighten as he glided, only to drop perfectly into what could only be described as a military-grade tank far below.

Eve was left alone with the cold for the second time that night. She let herself enjoy it for a while longer and then disappeared into the depths of the GCPD below.

Edward Nygma was many things, and patient was not one of them.

Riley's Old Irish was supposed to be his chance at simultaneously escaping the tiresome populace of his fellow Arkham inmates, as well as an opportunity to perhaps hear more about Colin O'Reilly's movements as the mob war progressed. After all, if he could uncover whichever ignoramus was truly behind such an ill-conceived and harebrained scheme, he could potentially whisper his findings into the right ears and bring this entire inane brouhaha to an end. And then—

Our dearly barbaric and boorish Bat would finally return his attention to his true mastermind and arch-nemesis—me.

However, the Prince of Puzzles' plan quickly fell apart almost two hours into the night.

He didn't account for his fellow Arkham confidant, Two-Face, to be at the bar. Having just finished whatever discussion he held with O'Reilly, the dual-themed crime lord was quick to spot him and ended up accosting him for half an hour. Neither enjoyed the discussion—as Dent shared nothing of use to Nygma, and Nygma only prattled on about how inconceivably this war has inconvenienced him—but both gentlemen at least shared their mutual loathing for the obscene mud monkey that is Roman Sionis. The Black Mask had been trading cheap shots with Two-Face since it began, a fact that the Riddler had already known, so once again, this was not of use.

Eventually, Nygma's patience had worn out. How his henchmen or Gotham's vigilante population did such insipid fieldwork and investigating without being struck with the desire to put a bullet through their cerebrum was beyond him. Though he had many gripes with the insolent children of Generation Z, he had to admit they had one thing right—human beings were the worst.

Exiting out of the building as knowledgeable as he was entering it, Edward Nygma sighed. He had gone out the back to avoid any further interactions with the coin-obsessed felon, but as he did so, he nearly wished he had risked the exchange. The repugnantly vile concoction of drugs, urine and regurgitated booze stuck to the alley worse than a nightclub's floor and had clearly never been cleaned.

The cretins of such a wretched establishment possess a single, simple job, and even that has proven to be too arduous a challenge. The Riddler grimaced, mindful of where he tread.

However, three steps into the back alley, the Prince of Puzzles was promptly met with a notification from his security phone. His security phone was a precautionary measure that alerted him of nearby cameras and microphones before it automatically shut them down to preserve his location. Cameras inside establishments such as these were common enough, but outside? Most Gothamites knew not to risk it unless you were in a wealthier, more secure city sector; otherwise, any simpleton off the streets could poach and sell the camera for parts.

With a frown, Nygma followed its location to the nearby dumpster. Upon arrival, he noted a blindspot above the dumpster that could certainly see the back door, but would not be noticeable from the back door. Edward Nygma surveyed the camera more closely after inelegantly climbing atop the large waste bin.

It was the high-calibre technology that he would expect from Gotham's mobs, but the brand was unfamiliar, and certainly not any of the company brands Edward knew that Gotham's underbelly bought from. So who are you?

Fishing around his suit pocket, he retrieved his compact yet comprehensive travel tool kit and deftly detached the device from the wall. Turning it over in his hands, he yet again pondered why, may God only know, was there an unfamiliar camera that defied basic downtown Gotham etiquette outside one of Colin O'Reilly's bars?

God won't be the only one to know soon enough, Nygma vowed, locked on to his new person of interest. For I, the Riddler, have stumbled upon my next enigma.

A/N: You have no idea how much fun I had writing this chapter. I love writing Batman's Rogues Gallery. Sorry, you didn't get to see much of the Harvey side of Two-Face, but I hope Eddie popping up at the end made up for that! Please feel free to leave some constructive criticism, especially if you feel any of the characters are becoming a little OOC and if Eve is becoming a tad Mary-Sue. I try not to make Mary-Sue characters, but Eve is naturally just one of those people who tries to be kind and polite to everyone – doesn't mean everyone likes her, though.

Thanks for reading and that's all for now, bye! :) xxx

T.L